


Seven Nights in Roanapur

by penny



Series: FMA in Roanapur [4]
Category: Black Lagoon, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: come_shots, Crossover, F/M, Gunplay, not ssc, violence as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-27
Updated: 2009-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She may finally get a confession from Kimberly. For Hughes. That alone will make the trip worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Nights in Roanapur

**Author's Note:**

> For Come Shots, theme _night on the town theme_.
> 
> **Warnings:** Sexual and non-sexual violence (the latter results in unnamed people dying on and off screen). Gunplay and S&amp;M of the not safe and sane variety. Also Hawkeye is an undercover agent who's infiltrated Bradley's organization using an identity that's not very Hawkeyeish.

**1.**

It's her first overseas assignment for Bradley. She doesn't want to be here. Roanapur is too...

Too hot. Too humid. Too lawless. Too distant. She's too far away from her safety net. She's got a local contact -- a number, not even a name at this point -- and a code to set up a meeting if she needs it, but if she fucks up, there's no way Roy can pull her out. If she can't extract herself, that's it. She's wasted three years of work.

But if she doesn't fuck up...

If she doesn't fuck up, she may finally get a confession from Kimberly. For Hughes. That alone will make the trip worth it.

She holsters her gun and puts on a light jacket. It doesn't hide that she's carrying, but the local police aren't going to bother her. She's here on Bradley's business, and Bradley's man here, Archer, has placed all the necessary bribes. She doesn't have to do a damn thing. Even her hotel room's been arranged, a tasteful room in one of the better hotels in the heart of the city. Spartan, but she doesn't need much, and apparently, it's the type of place that sees a number of guests like her, because the staff is unobtrusive, nearly invisible.

She pockets her room key and leaves. Archer, at least, knows their respective places in Bradley's hierarchy. Technically, he's above her -- he's in charge of the organization's entire Southeast Asian operation -- but she's Bradley's sharpshooter. She's been sent as a favor, and Archer's gracious enough to give her room. Nobody tails her when she leaves the hotel.

She still takes her time finding a pay phone. She could use her secure phone, but she doesn't trust the unobtrusive, nearly invisible staff at her hotel, and she doesn't want to be seen using a cell phone on the street since the one she uses in Bradley's organization doesn't work here. Better to be safe.

The streets are crowded, and the lights are garish. The neon is comforting in a way, and she clings to that, because she's entirely too aware she doesn't know this city. If she needs to run, which alleys dead end? Where are the boundaries between syndicates? She has a vague idea of where the big players operate, but the city's divided up into too many overlapping territories for her comfort.

She buys a Thai beer from one of the street vendors and sips while she makes her call. A woman answers, and she's surprised she's not really shocked her contact is female. In a way, it's actually funny, a sister agent. She'd giggle if giggling was something Elizabeth would do.

"It's Phoebe. From Athens," she says.

"Ah." There's a snap on the other end. "I'd heard you might be calling."

"Where's a good place to get a drink?"

"The Yellow Flag. Tomorrow night. Head towards the port. When you think you've hit the shitty part of town, keep going."

"It gets worse?"

Another snap, like popping gum. "Doesn't it always?" The line goes dead.

**2.**

Bradley's sniper is a hard little thing. Young. Kimberly puts her at twenty-five or twenty-seven. Archer hasn't said much about her, which means he either doesn't know much, or there's not much to tell. It's especially hard to read Archer now. For the first time, he doesn't have control over his situation, and he doesn't admit it, but Kimberly can tell he's worried his position in Roanapur, in Bradley's organization, is in jeopardy.

Kimberly's been around long enough to understand Archer's uncertainty. Bradley sends his best in for one of two reasons: to help out or clean up. If this Cain woman is here to clean up, Archer's dead.

He'd be upset if the mess with the Italians got Archer killed. It's an odd feeling. Kimberly's never really cared either way about his bosses, but Archer's the first one who considers him something more than a thug. Oh, it's nice being able to use his skills -- Archer's not squeamish about sending him out -- but it's also nice to be asked about opinion on art, the politics in Hong Kong, or whatever bit of news catches Archer's ear.

Fuck. He's been domesticated. Maybe he should want the Cain woman to end up being a cleaner.

"Well aren't you a moody bastard."

The Lagoon chick and the fake nun from the Church of Violence. Kimberly shifts so he barely sees them out of the corner of his eye. The nun -- Eva? Eda? Fuck, he can't remember -- is in her street clothes, so she looks like every other whore on the street. Kimberly eyes her Glock. Well, almost like every other whore on the street. Most of them don't carry.

The Lagoon chick settles down on the stool next to him. Bao's quick with the rum and glasses but no warning for her tonight. He's probably afraid of tempting fate. Every time he tells her not to shoot up his bar, some crazy fuck walks in.

"What's the matter, baby? Italians proving too wily? Can't find their headquarters to set your bombs?"

"I hear your little puppy's there on an errand. Wouldn't want to hurt him."

The nun -- Eda, Kimberly finally remembers -- pops her gum. "I keep saying I'll take Rock off her hands so she can run away with you. He's such a cutie pie." She shoves her mirrored sunglasses back on her head. "He deserves a real woman."

"Fuck you both."

Kimberly lets his gaze drop to her Cutlasses. She knows him well enough by now to know he's not staring at her tits, and she indulges him by shifting just a bit so the overhead light catches the guns just right.

"Don't start," Bao says. He refills Kimberly's glass, but he's glaring at the Lagoon chick. And then he goes pale. "Please tell me that woman isn't a maid. Or a nun. Or anyone you know, Revy."

They all glance back at the door. Revy gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Don't know her."

"She's not a nun," Eda says.

Kimberly straightens. "She's Elizabeth Cain." And she shouldn't be here. She's barely been in Roanapur a day, and he knows she's been spending her time scoping out the Italians' headquarters.

Bao and both women turn to stare at him. Kimberly smiles and knocks back his drink. "Don't worry. She only shoots people. Not bars."

**3.**

It's her second night at the Yellow Flag. Her local contact hadn't shown up last night. Or hadn't approached her, anyway, and that's a relief, because she'd seen Kimberly and didn't want him to see her talking with anyone.

Unfortunately, Kimberly's present again tonight. He raises his glass and smiles, and she ignores the lurch in her stomach. He does not know who she really is. She's just paranoid because she's well outside her comfort zone.

But Elizabeth is not outside hers. In fact, Elizabeth is firmly inside her comfort zone. She stalks towards Kimberly. Elizabeth is not afraid of Archer's pet bomber. "Crimson," she says, plucking the glass from his fingers.

His smile twists into a grin, but she's Elizabeth now, so there's no jittery flutter of paranoia. The whiskey burns going down. She grimaces. "Can't you at least drink the decent stuff?"

"I would if he carried it." He takes the glass back from her and gives it a quick swirl before downing the last sip. "So what brings you in here, sweetheart?"

"Apparently, bad whiskey."

"Your hotel has a very nice bar."

She allows herself a thin smile. "Yes, full of very nice businessmen looking for very nice ladies."

"Hmmm." He leans back a bit and props one elbow on the bar. He lets the glass dangle from his fingers. It's just plain glass, not cut like the very nice glasses at the very nice bar in her hotel, but it still catches the light. "Not your style?"

"No."

"So what is your style?"

"Work."

Kimberly blinks at her. And she blinks right back because she's a little surprised by Elizabeth's -- her -- answer. But it's true. Work is Elizabeth's style. She's here for a reason, and she's made her observations, collected her data, and now it's time to plan the attack.

She leans close and presses her hand on top of Crimson's so the glass he's still dangling from his fingers thunks solidly against the bar. "Aren't you bored just sitting here?"

He goes still under her. There's hunger in his golden eyes. Yes. He's bored.

He licks his lips. "I'm a bit messy for your tastes."

She doesn't like the feel of Elizabeth's -- her -- smile. "This is a messy job."

**4.**

He does have to give Cain credit. When she says something's messy, it's messy. He hasn't gotten a chance to be so reckless since the Selim Bradley affair.

He even gets to set a few bombs. The Italian headquarters goes up beautifully. He and Cain are close enough to feel it rumble through them. It would have been nice to be closer -- he likes the stripped bare feeling of the heat -- but they hadn't bribed the cops to ignore the explosion, so they didn't want to be on scene.

Besides, the Italians still have a safe house to clear out.

Cain glances over at him, holding her Desert Eagle ready. Her hands are steady, eyes steel. He can imagine her behind a sniper rifle, staring down that scope. He wonders how she feels when she squeezes the trigger.

He nods. She moves and kicks in the door. Quick. Professional. She's got some training. Military, probably. She knows to keep low. And she knows to get the first and last shot.

It's over entirely too quickly. She racks up four to his one. Kimberly does the mental tally in his head. That leaves two more Italians floating around somewhere, one of them the boss. Well, Archer won't be happy, but he won't be unhappy, either.

And Kimberly suspects Cain already has a plan to take down the last two.

He waits until they're certain the place is clear. "Not a bad first date."

Cain toes one of the bodies. When it doesn't move, she holsters her gun. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Hmmm. Mistaking me for one of those very nice businessmen in the bar at your hotel?"

She considers him for a moment. "Not mistaking you for my type."

"Oh? And what is your type, sweetheart?" He can't decide if his tone is challenging or flirtatious.

She can't either. She stares at him for a beat. And that gives him the time to really see her. Her breath is shallow, eyes wide, molten. The room's thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder and death, and Kimberly's familiar enough with his own bloodlust to see it strumming through someone else.

She lets her hand drop to her side and flicks off the safety on her gun. "My type," she says, running her thumb along the butt of her gun, lovingly, so Kimberly just tenses, doesn't raise his gun, "has a tight little cunt for Vanessa to fuck."

Vanessa? She'd named her gun? For a moment, all Kimberly can hear is his pulse. Cain. Her gun. Inside him. Loaded. With the safety off. His own gun feels heavy in his hand. And his voice sounds far, far away. "I've got two other holes for her."

The moment snaps. Cain steps back, sets her safety back on. "We've got two more men to find."

**5.**

Elizabeth will need to finish what she started with Kimberly. Crimson. Whoever he is right now. She's Elizabeth right now. Knowing that, knowing that when this assignment is over, when she's extracted and back to who she really is -- and she doesn't dare name that identity because Roanapur makes her feel too unsettled, makes her doubt her ability to _be_ Elizabeth, and maybe this entire undercover operation had been a mistake from the start, but there's Hughes, dead nine fucking years now with no justice, and Roy knows, but can't prove, the truth but his wife and daughter probably never will because of confidentiality, national security, and all that stuff that's necessary but also bullshit, so what's the point, really, of trying to get a confession out of Kimberly while she's here laying a thicker trap for King Bradley? -- knowing that she will walk away from Elizabeth doesn't make being her any easier.

Is she really going to fuck a confession out of Kimberly? Yes. If he lets her.

She and Kimberly find the last two Italians the next night. He kills the henchman. She stops short of killing the boss. Instead, they drag him to one of Archer's fronts, a card house not too far from the Yellow Flag. The place smells stale -- too much smoke and sweat and cheap alcohol -- until they hit the back rooms. The change is so abrupt, it's almost jarring. They go from a dingy, dim front to...

To rooms clearly used for torture. The smell hits her first -- bleach, sharp and strong enough to make her eyes water -- and then the sight -- white, the walls and floor all tile, and a lone stainless steel chair bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.

She chains the man to the chair. Kimberly's watching her. Or watching parts of her. Her fingers on the lock. Her gun nestled in its holster. Her face, briefly.

"Well?" she asks, ignoring the Italian as he starts to come around. He curses at her in English, then switches to Italian. "Aren't you going to get your boss?"

Kimberly's face goes still. "Why?"

"Bradley sent me to help. I've done more than I needed to. The least I can do to thank him for his hospitality is let him have this." She reaches for her gun, cocks it, and the sound echoes. "But if you'd rather I finish it."

The Italian starts screaming. She backhands him. "Shut up."

"I'll go get him," Kimberly says.

"Are those men out there his?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll leave this in their hands."

"You don't want to stick around?"

She should stay and watch. More evidence. Elizabeth wouldn't mind the show. She shakes her head. "He shouldn't feel obligated to entertain me."

"Hmm." Kimberly's watching her face, tracing the tattoo on his left palm absently. "Not what I would have figured. But yeah, he'd give you a show." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "All right. Enjoy your evening, Miss Cain. It's been a pleasure. I do hope you'll stay in Roanapur a few more days to take in the sights."

"There seem to be so many," she says, and then she brushes past him.

**6.**

It's a shame Cain didn't stay to watch. One of the things Kimberly appreciates about Archer is that he's not afraid to bloody his own knuckles. He knows when to handle his own problems and when to let someone like Crimson loose.

By the time they finish, it's already mid-morning. Kimberly's tempted to go call on Cain. He's still raw and overly sensitive from the torture, so his control...well, he doesn't have any. But Cain? Oh, she has control.

Archer leaves terse orders for the men to call a cleaner. He frowns at the blood staining his cuffs, and then turns that frown to Kimberly. "Go get some sleep."

"A little too keyed up, boss."

"You'll calm down." His frown deepens. "I'll have to make arrangements for Miss Cain."

"Don't want her sticking around?"

"No. I'll have her leave on the first flight tomorrow."

"Ah, so you don't want her around, but you don't want to place enough bribes to get her out of here now."

The dark look Archer shoots him makes him grin. "Go get some sleep," Archer orders.

He knows when to obey. And Archer's right. He does calm down once he makes it back to his room and draws the blinds. But he's awake by sunset, and he figures this is his last chance for a shot -- ha -- at Cain. Be a shame to let her leave without saying good-bye to her and Vanessa.

Archer has her at the Coral. It's a modern hotel, moderately priced, catering to illegitimate business travelers who are at least trying to appear legitimate. The clerk at the front desk knows him and is willing enough to give him Cain's room number and accepts a modest bribe to forget to call up to her.

He wants to know how she'll handle getting a surprise visitor. She's probably expecting him, but...

Kimberly flexes his hands in his pockets. She's expecting him.

She answers the door in a maroon tank top and khaki cargo pants. Her hair's loose around her shoulders, and it should make her look softer, but instead it serves to emphasize the set of her shoulders, the way she stands tall and straight. There's the heady scent of gun oil, and he can see Vanessa disassembled and lovingly laid out on a towel on the bed.

"I know you're not here on Archer's behalf."

"Completely on mine."

Her expression's harder to read than Archer's. She watches him, and her grip on the door is firm, just like her stance. She's not welcoming, but there's some heat in her eyes. He can worm his way in.

"At the very least, you can let me say good-bye to Vanessa."

That does it. Her face doesn't change, but her pupils dilate, and her eyes flare. She steps back. "I suppose it's only polite."

He kicks the door shut behind him and leans against it. She returns to the bed, sitting cross-legged on it while she finishes cleaning Vanessa. She ignores him while she does it, and Kimberly kind of likes that. Like it's a moment between her and the gun, and an audience isn't going to take that privacy from her.

She glances up at him, once, and he can't make out her expression. But apparently, she makes out something in his, because she loads the clip, slides it in place. And then she's on her feet in a fast, fluid motion, and Vanessa is steady in her hand. And the safety's off.

Kimberly tenses. He doesn't bother hiding his desire. This is why he's here, after all. He steps forward. Cain doesn't flinch, doesn't step back, just holds her ground as he approaches. He stops short of her, holds her gaze for a moment before reaching out, slowly, to take her wrist.

Her tendons are firm under his fingers. He kneels, and she lets him lower her arm. The barrel of her gun is steady between his eyes, at least until he's on his knees and he pulls her arm lower, so he can lean forward.

He feels her pulse spike when his lips close around the barrel. The metal's still warm from her hands and the cloth, and the taste of the oil catches the back of his throat so he can smell it, too, and they tangle together in his head. He moans a bit as he takes the gun deeper.

His fingers tighten on her wrist. Not that she's trying to pull back. Her face is...well, it's a lot of things. Confused. Aroused. Needy. The emotions flicker beneath her mask, and if she's as much like Archer as he thinks she is, what he's seeing is the strongest of her emotions. The ones she can't completely contain.

He doesn't bother containing his. He takes his time blowing the gun. And it gets him hard. He reaches for his zipper, and Cain nudges his hand away with her foot. "Earn it," she orders, and the sharp edge of her tone makes him shudder.

He draws back. He's been sloppy, and a trail of saliva links him to the gun. Cain stares at it, takes a quick breath, and Kimberly feels her need through the pulse in her wrist.

"Still want a tight little cunt for her, sweetheart, or will my ass do?"

Cain swallows. "I'll make an exception. This once."

He chuckles. "You're so kind."

"No." She nudges his groin with her foot, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that he rises. "I'm not."

He strips for her. She keeps her eyes firmly, and disappointingly, on his face. He's not a bad looking man, and, all right, he's bit biased, but he's got a nice cock. She could at least take a quick peek, acknowledge how hard he is for her.

Well, for Vanessa.

She steps aside so he can see the bed behind her. "On your back," she orders, and she keeps the gun trained on him as he obeys. "Hands over your head."

She's not going to let him touch himself? Bitch. Still, Kimberly grins, hitches his hips as he crosses his wrists over his head. And she does finally look at him and she crawls on the bed between his legs. She lowers the gun almost to his lips, and he cranes his head to lick the barrel. Then she trails his down his neck, over his heart, then lower. The barrel is teasingly cool as she runs it lightly down the length of his cock.

He rolls his hips. She pinches the inside of this thigh, hard, and withdraws the gun. "Hold still."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

"Shut up."

"Gag me."

She frowns. And then she moves too fast for him, shoving the barrel of the gun back in his mouth. It clanks against his teeth, and he does gag a bit because he's not expecting it. And she's cupping his balls with her free hand. Squeezing. And the pressure's right on the cusp of pleasure-pain, and that fucking safety is still off, and it's all he can do to keep from coming.

She won't take his shit.

She eases up a bit. "Behave."

He nods. It's a bit disappointing when she withdraws Vanessa from his mouth. But then she's pressing it against his ass, and wait --

Fuck! It hurts, but he's almost ready for it, and the snapping fire up his nerves also feels good, and now he doesn't want her to let up. He snarls. And she forces the gun deeper. And it's a fucking good thing he gives sloppy head, because the only lubrication is his spit, and it's not enough, and he doesn't want it to be enough.

She releases his balls, and fuck, they throb. "You may speak now."

"Ah, you bitch!"

"Yes." She wraps her hand around his cock, and of course she's not gentle there, either. Her strokes are quick, rough, and the pain and pleasure snaps up his spine and fucks up his vision.

"God damn you!"

She twists the gun, and he can feel, from the angle, that her finger's on the trigger. That does him in. He's not sure what he's snarling at her when he comes or if she says anything in response. When he comes down off of it, she's still holding his cock, tight, and the gun is still solid and steady inside him.

"Satisfied?" she asked, releasing him. She wipes her hand on the inside of his thighs.

"Yeah, he manages.

"Good. My turn. I'm curious about a rumor I've heard. Back in Boston."

"Yeah?"

"Some of the old timers say you used to partner with a mole."

He's quite aware of Vanessa, still inside him. Loaded. Safety off. Cain's finger on the trigger. Fuck. She hadn't come here to take care of Archer.

"What does Bradley say?"

She gives him a one-shouldered shrug. "Bradley says I should ask you myself."

She's watching him, and all that emotion he saw flickering across her face earlier is gone. She's blank again. Unreadable.

He flexes his hands. "Was a long time ago. There a reason why this is coming up now?"

"The Italians, we've learned, received weapons and intelligence from a certain US agency."

"Hmmm."

"'Hmmm' is not an acceptable answer."

"The mole was Hughes. And yeah, he was CIA. A shame, because he was good with his knives. Not half bad with a bomb, either. A little too chatty, but not a bad drinking buddy."

"What happened?"

"Well I'm here and he's not, sweetheart. What do you think happened?"

She shifts, and the gun presses deeper. "I'm not sure, darling. Tell me."

Ah, there's that look again. The bloodlust. He smiles. "Need a bedtime story?"

"No, but Vanessa needs a story to keep from coming."

"Well that just ruins the mood."

She spares him a cold smile. "Tell me."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell. He was a mole, so I killed him."

"As simple and easy as that."

"Isn't it what you'd do?"

The look in her eye changes. Kimberly tenses. Yeah, it is what she'd do, and she's deciding right now if she needs to. It's fascinating to watch. And okay, it's fascinating to analyze his fear. Because he is afraid, and he hasn't been for a while. Not since...well, not since Hughes. Because it hadn't as been as simple and easy as he makes it sound. Hughes had fought.

Maybe some of that shows, because her eyes drop to the scar running just beneath his last rib. The one Hughes had given him.

Her expression darkens. Kimberly can taste his fear now, coppery. She's going to kill him. He curls his hands into fists, and then something in her breaks. She draws back, withdraws Vanessa, and that doesn't hurt so much as feel like a big, cool relief. Kimberly blinks, and in that moment, she's moved off the bed. She's at the desk, her back to him, and he realizes she's disassembling Vanessa, getting ready to clean her again.

"Get out." Her voice is shaky.

So. Even her control has limits. Kimberly appreciates the effort it took her to draw back. He's also smart enough to know she won't restrain herself again. So he dresses quickly and leaves.

**7.**

She's back in Boston when the call comes on her secure phone. The number's naggingly familiar. Then it hits her. Roanapur.

"Hello, Phoebe."

It's her contact. The one she never got to meet.

"So sorry we didn't get that drink, but I hear you business was successful."

"This call is against protocol."

Laughter. "Yes. So is fucking your target."

"Are you planning to blackmail me?"

"Not at all. But I would like to know how successful you were. You see, I owe a dear old friend a favor and want to make sure I deliver this package to the right person."

Hughes. "So do I."

A snap. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable leaving delivery in your hands."

"It's not just in mine."

"Oh?"

"There's also my family in Athens." She can't name Roy, or even refer to him as her handler. But it's enough of a clue.

"Ah." Another snap. "Well, if your family's ever in town and needs a tour guide, give them my number."

"Thank you. I will."

"Oh, and Phoebe? This place isn't for you. Don't come back." The line goes dead.

No. Roanapur isn't for her. She won't go back.


End file.
